


Place Us in Exile

by wildes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, M/M, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a freshman at college. A freshman year can be a hard time for a neurotic 19-year-old, but luckily Will has Dr. Hannibal Lecter to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So one night I sat down in front of the computer and thought, "IF IT TAKES WRITING A BAD AND CHEESY COLLEGE AU TO MAKE HANNIGRAM A HAPPY THING..." It may not turn out to be that happy. It may or may not turn out to be bad and cheesy.

Will stares up the flight of stairs. His room is number 718, which he reckons means that it’s on the seventh floor. The straps of his back bag dig painfully into his shoulders, and his two massive trunks lie on the ground next to his feet. He takes two steps to his side to lean against the elevator door. The sign hung on it seems to be mocking him, the huge red letters announcing it’s out of order. Will sighs, wiping sweat off his forehead. He feels hot and his skin too tight on him.

He hears someone come down the stairs, and swiftly focuses his attention on the sign, as if it’s the first time he’s seen it, carefully avoiding meeting the gaze of whoever is approaching. It’s because of this that he’s caught completely off guard when a bright voice greets him cheerfully.

”Hi,” she says, and Will turns on his heels,”you look like you need help with those.”

It’s hard to deny, although Will wishes he could. He nods curtly and clears his throat awkwardly before replying.

”That would be awesome, thanks,” he says, and feels slightly better when a wide grin spreads on the girl’s face at his words. Her black hair falls to her face as she bends down to pick up one of Will’s suitcases, and she blows it off.

”What’s your room number?” She asks, already making her way towards the stairs. ”Please don’t say you live on the tenth,” she adds under her breath, looking almost comical, her small and tin frame dragging Will’s massive bag behind her. She seems to handle it quite well, though, Will thinks, and makes a mental note to never get in trouble with her. She is definitely stronger than she looks.

”Seven eighteen,” Will says apologetically, and follows her to the stairs. 

”Oh my god!” She exclaims, looking like she’s about to drop Will’s bag in excitement. ”It’s the room opposite mine!”

Will doesn’t know what to say to that, but thankfully it seems that he doesn’t have to contribute much to the conversation. He settles to smiling and nodding and trying to look like he’s not dying under the weight of his back bag as the girl rambles on about how the room opposite hers has been empty for ages and how she’s sure they are going to make excellent friends. She looks like she’s about to pee herself out of joy when she finds out that Will is going to be a psychology major just like she is.

”I’m Bev, by the way,” she says, stopping at the stair landing to catch her breath. ”Or Beverly, but don’t you dare to call me that or I’ll gut you.” The cheerfulness of this threat amuses Will, and it takes him a moment too long to realize he’s expected to reply.

”I’m Will,” Will says, and feels a familiar bubble of anxiety ache in his chest as he struggles to find something to add. He doesn’t succeed, and the relief that washes over him when Bev doesn’t seem to mind one bit feels almost embarrassing.

”I’m just starting my sophomore year,” Bev says, as they make their way towards the fourth floor. ”You are going to love it here, the atmosphere is amazing and the people are so nice.”

As they reach the seventh floor, Will feels completely drained, and really, he thinks it’s rather unfair how Bev seems like seven flights of stairs had no effect on her whatsoever. She leaves him with a smile and makes him promise he’s going to find her at the party on Friday (Will doesn’t mention that he has no idea which party she’s referring to). He feels slightly dizzy, but he supposes he’s been lucky to find a friendly someone this early on. And he likes Bev, he really does - he just hopes he won’t be a disappointment to her.

##

His roommate turns out to be a guy called Matt, a fourth year English literary student, who seems like a cool enough guy but who Will barely ever sees, as he doesn’t really live on the campus. Matt’s girlfriend has an apartment of her own somewhere nearby, and Matt spends most nights with her there. 

It’s a huge relief to Will, to have the room mostly to himself. He’d been extremely anxious beforehand about having to share a room with someone he’d never met. At least now, he thinks, if all else fails and he finds himself spiraling down to the depths of darkness and depression, he has a place to escape to, a place where to lock himself away from the rest of the world.

It’s a grim thought, and Will tries to push it as far to the back of his mind as he can. He glances at the scar on his left wrist - the only one that’s visible - and takes a few deep breaths. College is a new beginning for him, a happy one, if he just lets it be.

It’s Thursday, and the first of his lectures are due to start around noon. Will tries to find something presentable to wear from his bags, but there doesn’t seem to be anything he’d feel comfortable in. Finally he settles on a pair of jeans and a white collar shirt that feels a bit too big on him. He feels clumsy and awkward in his skin, and his stomach is turning at the idea of having to meet a class full of new people.

The first lecture he has is led by Dr. Alana Bloom, a beautiful, tall woman with piercing, brown eyes. She seems genuinely friendly and caring, and her words of welcome are warm and calming. Will glances around the auditorium, where fifty new students have all fixed their attention to Dr. Bloom, their faces tactfully emotionless, and their clothes clearly carefully chosen. Will’s heart is beating a bit too loud in his chest, and he grips the seat to steady himself, his knuckles turning white. _Not now_ , he thinks feverishly, _not yet_.

Dr. Bloom chooses that moment to dismiss the class and Will lets out an involuntary breath of relief, and the panic subsides almost as quickly as it had begun to rise. He stands up, his feet trembling slightly, and makes his way to the next lecture following in the wake of his classmates. He chooses a seat at the very back of the auditorium. It’s a particularly nice auditorium: it has wooden seats on three walls, divided by majestic stone separators. The room is rather dark and feels cold, but Will instantly enjoys the atmosphere of it. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter steps to the room from the back door, and the chattering dies almost instantly. There’s a sense of authority radiating from him that silences the room completely and efficiently. It fascinates Will, and he leans forward in his seat instinctively, ready to pay his full attention to whatever Dr. Lecter is about to say.

”Welcome,” he starts, sitting to the edge of the table at the front of the room. He’s dressed well, and expensively, Will would guess, in a brown suit, a different shade of brown collar shirt and a thick grey tie. He’s a man in his thirties, but the self-assured way in which he presents himself makes him appear a bit older and a bit more authoritative. ”And I think congratulations are also in order, you are the best of the big group of people who applied here this year.”

Dr. Lecter smiles widely, exposing his teeth, and Will swallows, poking his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. As Dr. Lecter goes on to introduce himself, Will realizes he finds his professor absolutely stunning. He hates himself a bit for it, but tries to suppress the guilty feelings. After all, it’s not like Dr. Hannibal Lecter is ever going to find out. There will be no harm in appreciating his looks from a safe distance.

Words fall from Dr. Lecter’s mouth at an interesting pace, his accent making his lips move around the voices mesmerizingly. ”I will be teaching you this course amongst a couple of others. I expect you will all get to know me quite well through the course of the year,” he says, and Will is struck by a childish desire to impress him somehow. ”In addition to that, as you might be aware, our school psychiatrist Bella Crawford is currently at a maternity leave, so I will be her replacement for the semester. Now, I would ask you to open your books, please.”

The noise of people digging into their bags fills the room, but Will barely realizes he’s expected to open the book already sitting in front of him on the table. He’s panic-struck. On Monday, he was supposed to have a meeting with the school psychiatrist to discuss and establish his treatment during his time at the university, but now the thought fills his stomach with anxiety. He isn’t sure if there’s any way he’s going to be able to be relaxed enough to open up to this man about his innermost fears and feelings.

He opens his text book with shaky hands and avoids looking at Dr. Lecter’s direction for the rest of the class.

##

”It’s a faculty gathering,” Bev explains to him the next day as they are making their way towards the main hall. ”All the teachers and all the students are going to be there, there’s some speeches and a bit of food and the teachers will try and corner some freshmen and convince them that they are real people.” She laughs and hands Will a tube of Pringles. Will takes a few and hands the tube back.

”The party is afterwards,” Bev continues. ”But you don’t need to worry, I’ll protect you.”

Will looks up, bewildered. He hadn’t been too worried before that remark, but now he is. ”Why should I be worried?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but Bev’s eyes are a bit too kind when she replies.

”It’s the freshman party, so there will be stuff.” She considers Will’s face for a moment. ”But it’s going to be okay.”

Will nods, not the least bit convinced, and shoves five Pringles’ into his mouth. He’s having trouble deciding which bit of the night’s horrid events he is looking forward to the least. Probably the bit where he’s expected to make a fool of himself in front of his class mates. He sighs. 

Bev opens the door for him and he steps into the main hall that’s already filled with people. It’s easy to tell the freshmen from the older students, they are the ones in uncomfortably big groups, their gazes wandering around the room restlessly, curiously. Will sees some people he recognizes on a couch in the corner of the room and walks towards them, inwardly quite pleased when he notices Bev follows him instead of going to find her friends.

They sit down on the sofa, joining the people curiously squinting at the people surrounding them. ”That’s Freddie Lounds,” Bev says lowly, nodding towards a red-haired girl in a similarly bright red dress and heels. ”She runs the school magazine. If you have skeletons in your closet, she’s going to drag them out in the open.”

”No skeletons,” Will says, rather unconvincingly to his own ears, but Bev lets it slide. 

”The girl with the ponytail is Miriam Lass,” Bev says. ”If you ever feel like you’re out of your depth with homework, you should go to her. She’s in my year, and she knows everything. I think Jack Crawford wants her to be the next principal when he retires. Miriam’s really nice, too.”

”Right,” Will says. He can’t really imagine going up to this girl who’s enthusiastically chatting to one of the professors and asking for help with his homework. ”Who’s that she’s talking to?”

”It’s Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier,” Bev says, ”but we call her Betty. She doesn’t really like the nickname but she understands the reasoning behind it. And _that’s_ Dr. Hannibal Lecter behind her just now.”

Will’s throat goes a bit dry. ”I know, he gave one of my tutorials,” he says.

”He’s a subject to a lot of speculation around the school,” Bev says in a low, excited voice. 

”I heard he killed someone in Germany,” Jimmy joins to the conversation from Will’s left side.

”No, you idiot,” Brian says, and directs his speech to Will and Bev. ”He exposed a gang of criminals in Poland while writing his thesis there a few years ago, and moved to the States to be safe from a possible revenge.”

”Yeah, right,” Bev rolls her eyes. ”I did hear he’s an amazing cook, though,” she says, looking back at Dr. Lecter with a dreamy expression. ”I wouldn’t mind getting a taste of his meat...”

Will snorts a laugh and Jimmy leans over Will to swat Bev on the knee. 

”There’s someone who’s probably sick of it by now,” Bev says after a moment, as they watch Dr. Alana Bloom approach Dr. Lecter, Dr. Du Mureau and Miriam Lass. ”Everybody knows they are having an affair.”

”What, Alana Bloom and Hannibal Lecter?” Will asks, surprised. 

”I know!” Bev replies and Will thinks it’s to be taken as a yes. He watches as Dr. Lecter leans close to Dr. Bloom’s ear to whisper something, and feels a weird twinge in his stomach as they share a laugh together. A fleeting thought suggests Will might feel jealous, but it’s so ridiculously childish of him that he refuses to think the thought through.

As the event goes on, Will begins to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Bev has disappeared somewhere with her gang of friends, and he’s left practically alone to the corner of the couch, nursing his fourth glass of lemonade (the lemonade is free and Will needs something to occupy his hands with). He keeps glancing at the clock, which seems to be moving unimaginably slowly. He’s endured three speeches and multiple awkward greetings and introductions, and he, quite frankly, can’t phantom that there’s still at least a whole hour of this to be survived.

His bladder feels like it’s bursting, but he’s afraid if he gets up someone’s going to nick his corner of the couch. After three minutes and twenty seconds of considering the pros and cons of going to the bathroom he can’t take it anymore, and gets to his feet. 

He closes the bathroom door behind him and walks to the mirrors, looking himself in the eye. He almost jumps out of his jeans when someone comes out from one of the cubicles.

It’s Dr. Lecter, of course it fucking is. Will is almost too annoyed by the coincidence to feel nervous, as Dr. Lecter walks next to him to wash his hands. He looks at Will through the mirror steadily. Will finds he is suddenly very fascinated by his own hands.

”Enjoying the party?” Dr. Lecter asks him, and from the corner of his eye Will can see a small smile on the man’s face. 

”Moderately,” Will mumbles through clenched teeth. His answer seems to amuse Dr. Lecter, who grins widely as he dries his hands, his cheekbones looking so sharp Will thinks they could probably cut through solid steel. 

”See you later,” Dr. Lecter says before leaving the bathroom. Will is so thrown by the encounter he almost forgets to pee.

##

On Monday Will wakes up in cold sweat, the remains of a horrific nightmare dancing around in the back of his mind, fleeting away as he tries to focus on the details. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and sits up to lean his head to his hands. The clock mocks him from the bedside table - it’s only 7:13 am and he knows he won’t be able to sleep again.

His appointment with Dr. Lecter is in three hours, and Will feels already so nervous he could throw up. He doesn’t like talking about himself, period. As a child he was taught never to tell things that happened at home to outsiders, and it has stuck deep. Will has also, and he readily admits it might be solely because of his stubbornness, come to the conclusion that talking about his problems doesn’t really help him. As a psychology major he knows people find help from sharing the difficult things in their life, but Will’s experience has been different. He doesn’t like being psychoanalyzed - it all feels like a trick, like a joke he already knows the punch line to.

But because of his anti-depressants, he has to talk to someone at least once a week, and now that he’s moved to another town that someone is apparently going to be Dr. Lecter. Will sighs, and gets up to go to the bathroom. He tries to think positively. At least he doesn’t have a hangover (he’d refused about forty nine out of fifty drinks offered to him that weekend), and he’s managed to live through the weekend without making a massive tit out of himself (except maybe by refusing to take part in any activity that included the possibility of him making a tit out of himself). 

He takes a piss and vaguely entertains the idea of getting into the shower and wanking himself silly, but he’s slightly worried he’d be tempted to imagine Dr. Lecter doing unspeakable things to him. He doesn’t really think there’s anything wrong with the idea per se, but he presumes sitting in Dr. Lecter’s office just a couple of hours afterwards would be awkward and even more unsettling for him than it’s already going to be. So he sighs and steps out of his pants to take a quick, cold shower. He pointedly doesn’t think of anything but the cool water running down his body. 

Will stops to knock on Bev and Georgia’s door on his way to Dr. Lecter’s office. Nobody answers the door, even though Will knows neither of the girls have classes this early on a Monday. Feeling a bit like the world is surely out to get him, he walks the short distance to the university. He almost wishes that it was farther, because all too soon he finds himself standing outside of a room with a grey label on it that reads ’Dr. Hannibal Lecter’ in elegant letters. It takes Will a couple of seconds to gather the crumbs of his courage before he knocks on the door three times.

The door opens almost instantly, and Will takes a step back as Dr. Lecter is suddenly standing right in front of him. He’s wearing a blue collar shirt and black trousers. He looks really good.

”Please, come in,” Dr. Lecter says, and shows Will to his office. Will takes a few, extremely self-conscious steps forwards and soon finds himself in a very spacious, almost histrionic room. There are two massive, comfortable-looking chairs placed in the middle of the room opposite of each other. Will makes his way to one of them, and runs his hand over the leather tentatively. He can feel Dr. Lecter’s eyes on him, even as the door closes behind them.

”Please, sit down,” Dr. Lecter says softly. ”It’s Will, isn’t it?”

”Um,” Will says, feeling really fucking stupid. ”Yes.” He sits down, and instantly wishes he had something to do with his hands.

Dr. Lecter sits down too, and considers Will for a long moment before saying anything. Will is set on not being the first one to talk; not that he would, anyway, but he doesn’t bode well with psychiatrists trying to make him talk by forcing silence on him. He’s not falling in that trap. Dr. Lecter crosses his legs and his hands. There’s a small smile in the corner of his mouth.

”Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Dr. Lecter asks.

Will grunts. ”I try to avoid it as much as possible. Eyes are distracting.” He looks at Dr. Lecter’s lips when he talks. ”You see too much. You don’t see enough.”

The answer seems to please Dr. Lecter in some way. He smiles a lopsided smile. 

”And it’s hard to concentrate when you’re thinking ’oh, those whites are really white’, or ’he must have a hepatitus’ or ’is that a burst vein?’” Will says, almost angrily, looking Dr. Lecter in the eyes. They are beautiful eyes. He is instantly distracted. Will tears his eyes away and breaths out. His heart is pounding in his chest.

Dr. Lecter gives a short laugh. ”You know what, Will,” he says after a moment. ”I think you and me see you differently. I think you see yourself as something that’s about to break, something that’s a touch away from falling to pieces.”

Will snorts. ”How do you see me?” he asks, leaning forward. He feels hypnotized.

”The mongoose I want under the house while the snakes slither by,” Dr. Lecter says slowly.

Will doesn’t know what to say to that. Something inside of him unlocks at Dr. Lecter’s words. 

For the rest of their hour Will speaks so much that towards the end his mouth feels dry like sandpaper, his tongue sticking up to the roof of his mouth. Dr. Lecter - or Hannibal, as Will has started to think about him, perhaps foolishly - offers him a glass of water and Will is struck by a weird sensation that Hannibal is looking at the way his throat works when he swallows.

His stomach flips over at the thought and his hand feels a bit shaky when he hands Hannibal his glass back. Hannibal considers him a few moments. Then he suddenly leans forward and moves Will’s glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, so that they are looking each other in the eye.

”That’s better,” Hannibal says and smiles brightly, his eyes sparkling with many confusing emotions. Will lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, the smile from Hannibal’s eyes slowly fading, replaced with curiosity and a lot of other things Will doesn’t know the names for. Finally, Hannibal looks away.

”Are you comfortable continuing our sessions here?” he asks gently. ”In the past I’ve had some students come to my home for the discussions. I live just around the corner.” He doesn’t look like he expects a reply, not yet, so Will stays quiet. ”I think you might enjoy if I cooked for you sometime. A good chat over a good meal beats a good chat.”

Will blinks and ends up agreeing in not so many words. Hannibal seems satisfied with the reply he gets, though. He touches the small of Will’s back as he shows him out of the office. 

Will feels like his brain has been run over by a cement truck, but he also feels light, and semi-content, which is more than he can usually say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hannibal can almost smell his anxiety. It seems to be radiating from him, creating an invisible yet effortlessly distinguishable bubble around him. Hannibal wants to take a needle and create a small hole to it, to let himself through. And once inside, he wants to sew the hole closed again."

Hannibal watches calmly as Will Graham sits on the edge of Hannibal’s sofa, nervously fiddling with his hands, his eyes darting around the room anxiously. He looks really out of place in Hannibal’s living room - a ragged, clumsy-looking figure in the midst of carefully chosen materials and colors and pieces of art. Somewhere in the back of his mind Hannibal thinks he should feel somewhat thrown off by this, but he doesn’t. Instead he finds himself inexplicably, and somewhat unnervingly, fascinated with the boy.

Will thinks his mind works differently from that of other people’s, and Hannibal is inclined to agree. He seems to have a gift of pure empathy, being able to assume the point of view of anyone he chooses. It’s a beautiful thing, in Hannibal’s mind, and he’s keen to learn more about it. To him, Will represents opportunity, for things he doesn’t yet have a name for.

”Would you care for a drink?” he asks, partly to break the silence and partly to give Will something to do with his hands. He smiles when Will says yes and thanks him, and hands him a bottle of soda from his fridge. 

He sits down and observes as Will wraps his thin fingers around the cool surface of the glass bottle. Will’s slightly too long hair falls to his eyes, and his shirt looks like it’s at least two sizes too big on him. There’s just a hint of stubble on his face, but still to Hannibal’s eyes he looks younger than his nineteen years. He’s quite tall, and thin, and every movement he makes seems slightly disoriented. He looks uncomfortable in his own skin.

”How have you been feeling, Will?” Hannibal asks after a moment. 

Will talks to his hands, smiling a smile that seems forced, maybe even bitter. ”Nervous,” he mutters, taking a sip from his lemonade, as if to buy himself more time to think about his answer. Hannibal watches as the kid’s lips curl around the head of the bottle and wishes he’d given him a glass. ”A bit lonely,” Will adds. ”There are all these people in my life, now. And still I feel lonely.”

”Have you thought about why you might feel the way you do?” Hannibal says. Will licks his tongue over his bottom lip, and Hannibal swallows. Unruly and most definitely unprofessional images fill his head, and he only half-listens to Will’s answer. He looks at Will’s hair and thinks about grabbing it and forcing the kid to his knees, unzipping his own fly and giving the boy something better to wrap his lips around than the bottle of homemade strawberry lemonade. 

He wouldn’t even drop his trousers down. He would work his way into Will’s mouth fully clothed. Biting the inside of his lip lightly, Hannibal adjusts the scene a bit in his head. He’d tear Will’s shirt open before forcing him down. Maybe he’d even pull down his pants, just to make him a bit more exposed, a bit more under his control. He imagines fucking into the boy’s willing, wet mouth. He’d be ruthless if needed, perhaps more gentle towards the end, before coming down his throat, or maybe spilling his come all over his flushed body.

Instead of walking over and yanking Will to his feet by his shirt to tear off his clothing, he tilts his head slightly to the side and considers Will for a very long moment. The boy has almost finished his drink, smiling joylessly, his gaze fixed somewhere between Hannibal’s nose and his throat. His breathing seems fast and shallow. Hannibal can almost smell his anxiety. It seems to be radiating from him, creating an invisible yet effortlessly distinguishable bubble around him. Hannibal wants to take a needle and create a small hole to it, to let himself through. And once inside, he wants to sew the hole closed again.

”Do you feel lonely, right now, with me, in this room?” Hannibal asks. He’s not sure what he expects the answer to be and he’s not exactly sure what made him let those words out of his mouth.

Will looks like he’s about to burst into tears. When he talks, his voice is little more than a whisper. ”I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything, anymore.”

In a wicked way, Hannibal enjoys seeing Will like this - on the edge of tears and broken. Hannibal wants to fix him, and he knows exactly how he wants to fix him.

He has to fight a smile from spreading to his lips when Will describes his nightmares to him. Furrowing his brows, he expresses his concern in a friendly, yet professional manner. But inwardly he’s nothing short of pleased.

In his dreams Will kills people. 

##

The news of Georgia Madchen’s sudden death travels the campus faster than wildfire. It’s his job as the school psychiatrist to address the news to the students, but as he looks at the auditorium full of sad and shocked eyes, he knows every single one of them is already aware of the reason for their being there. His eyes fleet over Will, who’s sitting in the very back looking distraught. He’s holding his hand over the shoulder of a black haired girl sobbing into her hands.

He gives the news shortly and without rhetoric, faking a lump in his throat and avoiding blinking to make his eyes appear moist. The students regard him with sympathy, and he knows there will be a queue of girls for him to hug in a few moments.

He clears his throat after a few beats of silence, to make his voice carry louder.

”I’m afraid it also falls on me to inform you that the police suspects that Ms. Madchen might have been murdered.” He pauses to let the news sink in, and again notices that nobody is surprised to hear this. A few of the girls shudder, and one of the boys in the first row looks like he’s about to throw up. ”If this is the case, I want to assure you that we will do absolutely everything in our power to bring the person who did this to justice.”

He isn’t too surprised when, after the people start to leave the auditorium, Will doesn’t move from his seat. Hannibal hugs a girl called Elise Nichols. She’s soft and shaky against him, and she’s wearing way too much perfume. She sobs against his shoulder and Hannibal holds her tighter, fully aware of Will’s eyes on him. In the corner of his eyes Hannibal sees Will’s motionless, dismayed face, and as he talks to the girl, he feels like he’s putting on a show to Will.

”I know how you feel,” he whispers, holding Elise by the shoulders, waiting until Elise’s eyes find his. ”One day, not soon, but one day, it will be okay.”

Elise swallows forcibly and her nod is jerky but recognizable. Hannibal mirrors her joyless smile with a quite bright one of his own, and when she turns to leave, guides her out of the room with a hand placed lightly on the small of her delicate back. He closes the door after her, and waits a second before turning around to face the room that would be empty if it wasn’t for himself and Will, who’s still sitting in the back of the high roofed room, leaning his head down to his hands.

”My good Will,” Hannibal says, making his way up the stairs to sit next to Will. Their shoulders brush as Hannibal sits down. ”Were you close with this girl?”

A shudder goes down Will’s body as he sighs, his gaze fixed to the whiteboard on the wall. He stares at it for a while, positively motionless, before shaking his head jerkily. 

Hannibal nods. They sit in silence for a few moments, Hannibal listening to Will’s ragged, shallow breathing and rapid swallowing. Will seems to be shaking slightly against his side, and the urge to wrap his arms around the boy and tell him that he’s going to take care of him surprises Hannibal in its intensity. He bites the inside of his lip until he tastes blood. Then he raises his hand from where it’d been resting on his thigh, exaggeratingly slowly, and places it on Will’s shoulder, squeezing firmly.

Neither of them says anything, and in a way it is better that way. It thrills Hannibal that they need no words.

##

He’s just been on the phone with Alana, when the doorbell rings at eight pm sharp. Hannibal can feel a lopsided smile form onto his lips. Putting down his half-full glass of red wine, he gets to his feet and walks to open the door.

He feigns surprise when he sees Will. ”Will,” he says, frowning. ”I wasn’t expecting you. Come in.”

Will storms inside the apartment and throws his jacket to the floor. Hannibal is thrown by how much it doesn’t bother him even though every last bit of his senses say it should. Hannibal closes the door behind Will, and goes after him to find him standing in the middle of his living room, his hands on his hips. When he sees Hannibal, he starts to pace back and forth on the carpet.

”Please, sit down,” Hannibal says gently and takes a couple of steps toward him.

It’s like Will can’t hear his words. They have no effect on him whatsoever.

”I feel like I’m snapping,” Will says, behind gritted teeth. Getting the words out of his mouth seems to be a struggle to him. He stops his pacing to look at Hannibal briefly. ”I’m panicking, I can’t stop it, I can’t control it anymore, I --”

”Please, sit down,” Hannibal repeats, now loudly and firmly. Will flinches at the words and falls to sit on the couch. 

”I’m afraid,” Will whispers. ”I feel like I’m losing control. Nothing feels real.”

Hannibal sits down next to him, closer than is necessary given the size of the sofa. He tilts his head to look at Will’s nervous profile. Then, in one quick motion, he grabs Will’s arm, wraps his long fingers around the kid’s bicep and squeezes him hard.

Will gasps in surprise and maybe in pain. He turns to look at Hannibal, bewildered, and Hannibal’s stomach flips when Will’s eyes find his. The boy has such beautiful eyes - a man could drown in those eyes.

”This is real.” Hannibal says, holding Will’s gaze, tightening his grip on Will’s arm. ”You are real, I am real, and this moment is real.”

Will’s breathing is rapid, but a touch less shallow than a moment ago. ”You’re hurting me,” he says meekly, and instead of letting go of Will’s arm Hannibal desperately wants to climb on him and pin him down against the sofa. He wants to tie Will’s hands above his head and twist his head back by his hair to get full access to his neck. His cock gives a twitch at the idea of marking Will and tasting his blood in his mouth, having him helpless and submissive under him.

He lets go of Will’s arm reluctantly and drops his hands to his lap. He can sense Will’s eyes on him still, and it does things to him.

”You feel so much that your brain can’t handle it,” Hannibal says, and his voice is calmer than how he feels. ”Your gift for empathy is causing you these anxiety attacks.”

When Will speaks, his voice is so tiny it’s barely audible. ”I feel like my sanity is slipping away,” he says. ”I can’t comfort anyone when I’m feeling like this, but I can’t stand being alone either. It’s ripping me apart.”

”You don’t have to comfort me, Will,” Hannibal says softly. He picks the wine glass up from the table and gives it to Will. ”You are shivering. Maybe that would warm you up a little.”

Will snorts, his lips curling into something resembling a small smile. ”Do you often give alcohol to your underage patients, Doctor?”

Hannibal licks his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, yet warm. ”No,” he says and watches as Will empties the glass in two great swallows.

”You can stay here for tonight, if you’d like,” Hannibal says, and monitors closely for Will’s reaction to these words.

The boy seems surprised but delighted, and he nods almost instantly. Hannibal can’t help a grin from spreading to his face. He gets up and fetches the bottle of wine from the fridge, filling Will’s glass again. ”It’s just to help you sleep,” he says to Will’s questioning face. ”You will have to have the couch. I’m afraid it’s not very comfortable.”

Will smiles. ”I’m not complaining.”

##

Will sleeps on his side, his hands under his head. After multiple glasses of wine, his sleep is deep and his breathing slow and even. Hannibal sits on a chair opposite of him and watches as his chest rises and falls.

He leans over to adjust Will’s blanket, although there’s nothing really wrong with it. He slides his hand along Will’s thin frame slowly and pauses his hand to Will’s neck, feeling his pulse with two fingers. It’s strong and steady, about seventy five beats per minute.

Hannibal slides one finger carefully along the line of Will’s jaw bone and beyond to touch his lips. Will’s mouth opens at the touch and Hannibal can feel his warm breath on his skin.

He touches himself through the layers of his clothing, and an involuntary gasp escapes his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's PoV was a real struggle to write - I hope it turned out okay. I'd still very much appreaciate cheerleading. The next chapter will be from Will's PoV again. There will be a hospitalization and hand-holding, if I manage to write it before I turn 107 years old.


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